hiroportamiindietro

seconds,
slow and fast,
their steady approach
soberly famished and cruel,
they do not wait for me,
stay their heavy hands
an ally of gentle heart
and a villain
most treacherous
most uncaring
of me.

i steal from them,
a regular thief,
snatching and snatching
slivers of diamond
wherein i store
the words that are borne
by my frozen fingers
and a much-abused pen
silently awaiting
its nearing death.

are words
kept in the cages of time
whence it was spoken,
or worded out by ink, lead
or even mere thought,
are they enclosed
in a sheath of ice
or bound
by flaming steel doors
never to escape,
and taste the breath of freedom
quick and swift,
as when they first
was liberated.

then i am
their foe,
their creator,
the weaver always weaving
thin and thick,
strands upon strands
of deeply-loved
words,
passionately making love
to the,,
even to their
prophesied imprisonment,
i breathe life into them
before taking it back.

seconds

and seconds

and more.

COUNTED LIVES.